


One for Sorrow...

by ladydoor



Category: A Charm of Magpies Series - K. J. Charles, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Magic, Magpie Lord, Magpies, Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Rings, Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26777179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydoor/pseuds/ladydoor
Summary: "Magpie rings, on us? I will wager anything you like, in a hundred years' time, some distant Vaudrey relation is going to pick one of these up and think, Oh, what a lovely heirloom, and put it on, and the whole blasted business is going to start again.""We may need to die at sea, then," Crane said. "And if we fail to do that, it's their problem."KJ Charles: The Flight of MagpiesWhat if...
Relationships: Stephen Day/Lucien Vaudrey
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	One for Sorrow...

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a crossover between The Magpie Lord trilogy and The Magnus Archives podcast. If you know nothing about the books, you won't understand a thing. Whereas you only need to know real basics of TMA. 
> 
> There is an implied and mentioned death of MCs from The Magpie Lord but it is only logical because the fic is set in the present time. There are no details mentioned.

[muffled steps and voices]

#### MARK VAUDREY

Are you sure there are no windows there?

#### ARCHIVIST

Quite sure. It’s a basement room.

#### MARK VAUDREY

That’s... that’s good then.

[door opening and closing, the sounds become clearer]

#### ARCHIVIST

Take a seat. Are you alright?

#### MARK VAUDREY

Y-yes. As long as there are no win-

#### ARCHIVIST

There. Are. No. Windows. Here. Just out of curiosity: do you live in the basement too? And what about work?

#### MARK VAUDREY

Yes, I do, actually. And I’m a librarian so I asked to be transferred to the underground storage. Nobody wants to do that job anyway. I just have to get there and back home. I use the Tube, of course. Sometimes I manage before they _gather_. They don’t hurt me but-

#### ARCHIVIST

You should tell this in the statement. Oh, the tape is already running. Are you ready?

#### MARK VAUDREY

Yes. Let’s.

#### ARCHIVIST

Statement of Mark Vaudrey, regarding... his ancestors’ obsession with magpies and weird occurrences tied to his heirloom. Statement recorded direct from subject 12th September, 2016. Statement begins. Whenever you are ready.

#### MARK VAUDREY (STATEMENT)

Right. Well. I used to think I was ordinary. I mean, I am ordinary. I have never excelled in anything and never strived to, I’m not brave and I like my peace and quiet. That’s why I work as a librarian. I don’t even like to read about adventures or magic - I prefer boring books. I cannot stress this enough: I am ordinary. Or I had been. Before the rings.

You see, my family tree contains several very peculiar ancestors on its more distant branches and when I was a child, I listened to my grandmother’s stories about them with fascination. Some of these people were rotten to the core, some were the opposite. One of them was supposed to be a magician and another was very nonconformist. He was gay and wasn’t very subtle about it in the times when you were supposed to be if you wanted to live in peace. He was sent to China as a youth by his own father who hoped the lad would die there (did I say some were rotten?). Well, he didn’t die. He became a tradesman and had a lot of adventures. There were bandits involved and magic as well and he had a sorcerer as his lover and some peculiar friends. And in all these stories, there were always magpies. Which is funny because their family title was Crane so one would think… It supposedly started with that magician who called himself the Magpie Lord. 

Of course, when I grew up I regarded those stories about magic as an old woman’s drivel. I had my ordinary life and was content with it until one day my distant relative died and by the convoluted inheritance laws, I suddenly found myself in possession of a derelict country estate. Our family was no longer wealthy. The rich, entitled line died with Lord Crane, the adventurer I just mentioned. He lived lavishly and he left his riches to his friends’ daughter, Ms Merrick, whom he adopted as his niece. There was only this house left and no money for its repair.

I decided to sell the property and I went there with an estate agent to assess it. The drive to Lychdale was fine but the property stands half an hour or so behind it and the road was rather unkempt. The property itself… well, I would be surprised if it was ever inviting but in its abandonment, it looked positively haunted. Nevertheless, we went in. My agent busied himself by taking photos, trying to find at least marginally flattering angles. It took her some time so I was left to myself. I roamed through the rooms, poking at things covered by a thick layer of dust. The magpies were everywhere. Carvings all over the wooden panelling, tapestries hanging on the walls, carved bedposts and railings. Some of them were incredibly ugly, some tasteful but the sheer amount of them gave me vertigo. 

I came to a gallery of sorts. There was a window in the ceiling but it was covered with dirt. With no electricity in the house, the room was dark, so I threw the windows open to have a better view on the paintings. They were the ancestors’ portraits. I have never understood the appeal but that’s nobility for you. I walked through the room, examining the paintings. They seemed to go in chronological order, the old ones being darkened and uninteresting, ugly fat old toads sitting on their wealth. Then I looked at the next one and saw the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. He was the epitome of aristocracy, tall, blond, sharp features and piercing eyes. There were magpies in the painting, and in the following ones too. I glanced back at the previous portraits. No magpies. So this must have been the “magician”. I scoffed but couldn’t tear my eyes away. His charisma was almost palpable, compelling me to look at him. Genes are interesting, don’t you think. I mean I have this Adonis among my ancestors and look at me. How would you describe me?

#### ARCHIVIST

I beg your pardon?

#### MARK VAUDREY

If you had to describe in as few words as possible, what would you say?

#### ARCHIVIST

I’d… probably go for ‘nondescript’.

#### MARK VAUDREY

Exactly! Anyway, I managed to tear my eyes off the painting and walked the rest of the way, only to find a very similar face staring at me from the last portrait. He was sitting in the armchair and he wasn’t alone, there was a short thin red-haired man standing beside him, resting his hand on the back of the chair behind the sitting man’s head. It was a perfectly normal composition but you just could see they were lovers. There was only one magpie in the portrait, set in gemstones on the ring the sitting man wore.

It must have been Lord Crane and his lover and the portrait felt like a middle finger stuck against his ancestors, mocking them. It was also a very well executed painting, I could see their personalities shining through. I made sure to note the artist’s name - Raven, as if there weren’t enough birds already in this - to look him up later. But I’m digressing.

I left the gallery and entered a small study behind it. The room was ransacked. There were empty boxes strewn all over the floor and a huge chest stood open near to the wall. The boxes looked like jewellery cases so I guessed someone took the liberty to relieve the place of a bit of old gold. But I looked anyway, in case there was something worth selling. I found a golden cufflink that rolled under the bookcase and was ready to call it a success but when I peered into the chest, there was something glittering in the corner. It was the ring from the painting and not only one, but two, one significantly smaller. I realized that they must be their wedding rings of sorts. They did look like they were worn every day for decades. The gold and stones were battered, edges chipped in places but none fell off and the birds were still recognizable. 

I rolled the rings in my palm and wondered if they would fit me. One was really small but I worked it on my little finger just fine. The other was large enough to be loose on my ring finger. I tried my forefinger and the ring fitted snuggly around the flesh. The magpies faced each other and I thought it was really incredible craftsmanship in it. But of course, they were too flashy for me. Maybe somebody would pay good money for them, I thought but the idea didn’t sit well with me. I wanted to keep them. Better to store them somewhere safe then. I attempted to take them off but I couldn’t. They didn’t move an inch, I couldn’t even turn them around my fingers. My fingers must have swelled in the meantime, as it happens. I kept the rings on. 

Weirdly enough, I completely forgot about the colourful pieces of metal on my fingers until I got back home. I had a shift the day after and I couldn’t imagine going to the library with these on. The rings were still stuck but my fingers didn’t seem swollen. So I tried soaping my fingers as I had seen my mother do. Nothing. I tried oil. No luck. I tried dipping my hand in cold water to reduce swelling even though I really didn’t think there was any. The ring didn’t move the tiniest bit. I freaked out a bit (as I said, I’m really not a brave person). I took out a small pocket knife and tried to stick the blade under the ring to see if there was any obstruction. There was none, the knife went all around freely but I nicked myself a bit in the spot between my fingers. It began to bleed an absurd amount of blood for such a small cut and when the blood touched the gold of the ring, my vision blackened and I fainted.

I came to myself a few hours later. My head hurt and a lump was forming where I had bumped it against the tiles. I swallowed an aspirin and went to bed, judging it best to deal with whatever was happening in the daylight. 

When I woke, I felt… odd. The headache was gone but… at the risk of sounding eccentric - but you must hear all kinds of stuff here…

#### ARCHIVIST

Yes, rather...

#### MARK VAUDREY

Right. I felt as if there was something in me that wasn’t there before. It was disorienting. But at the same time, I felt good, energetic even, so I… went to work. I have always used to count the magpies on my walks. One for sorrow, you know. Usually, I got five at once, tops. That day, I got eleven. And it went worse ever since. Every day, every minute, they are following me. If I’m inside a building, they find the closest window and perch there, watching. I tried opening the window once. They didn’t get in. They just stared at me with those beady eyes, waiting. I didn’t know what they were waiting for. 

Then one day I went home and when I walked through the park, I saw a group of youths bullying a small boy. Normally, I’m ashamed to admit, I would walk away and call the police from a safe distance. But at that moment, I felt… anger and an overwhelming need to do something about that myself. I walked straight to them and started shouting. They turned against me. Some had knives. Something snapped inside me and I felt a surge of power. My vision got blotted by black and white and teal. I could have done horrible things as the power rushed through me and the magpies gathered in the air above my head, ready to strike. There was just one thought: _justice_. I recoiled from it. I knew I couldn’t stop it if I reached for the power. Fortunately, the gathered birds were enough to send the thugs running. The boy too, in the opposite direction. I stood there, my heart trying to tear itself from my chest, my vision still blurred.

After that, I requested the transfer to the underground storage. I let go of my flat on the top floor and moved to the basement. But I know they are there. Waiting. _Expecting_. I am the Magpie Lord. And they just won’t understand they chose the wrong person.

As a librarian, I’m reasonably good at research so I managed to trace down Lord Crane but I haven’t been able to find out how those rings got back to the estate. He died abroad and he had severed the ties with England long before, had some proxy to manage his affairs here. Did he leave the rings to his niece? Did she send them back? Why would she do that? I have many questions and no answers and this immense power is in me and I don’t want it and the birds are always watching and watching, waiting for me to use this power and I DON’T WANT TO DO THAT-

#### ARCHIVIST

There there. Have a drink.

#### MARK VAUDREY

[several shuddering breaths] Sorry, sorry, I just… I can’t anymore.

#### ARCHIVIST

It’s alright. It’s-

[door opening]

#### MARTIN

Jon?

#### ARCHIVIST

Not now, Martin. Don’t you see that I’m recording a statement?

#### MARTIN

I know, sorry, but Elias says that there is a storm of magpies outside the Institute and do we know anything about it?

#### MARK VAUDREY

Mischief.

#### ARCHIVIST

What?

#### MARK VAUDREY

It’s a mischief of magpies. I… I better go now. Thank you for your time.

[door closing]

#### ARCHIVIST

Right... Statement ends.

##### [CLICK]

##### [CLICK]

#### ARCHIVIST

I saw the birds the day Mr Vaudrey left. I was sure Elias was exaggerating but... there were _hundreds_ of them sitting _everywhere_. Disconcerting. 

Nevertheless, there wasn’t much to follow up in this case. The names given by Mr Vaudrey are real, his estate exists. Lord Crane lived in Shanghai and after a quick interlude in England returned there with his lover and friends, only to move immediately to Japan where they seemed to stay for several decades while travelling extensively. They made quite a dent in the local folklore and the old English rhyme One for Sorrow Two for Joy is very popular there, especially among the children. There are many stories still circulating among locals about miracles performed by the white-haired foreigner and his red-haired companion a hundred years ago. We supplied these findings to Mr Vaudrey but there is nothing more we can do. His case, after all, is not pressing because there is no real malevolence involved. I guess he should just get used to the birds. End recording.

##### [CLICK]

##### [CLICK]

#### ARCHIVIST

Addition, 21st of March, 2018. We’ve got a postcard from Mr Vaudrey. It seems that he decided to follow the tracks of his ancestor. He found a descendant of Ms Merrick and they are having a great time in Japan. The locals treat him as some kind of a half-god. He is being tutored how to control his powers by a... shaman? How eccentric. Well, maybe finally a statement that doesn’t end tragically? Hm. End recording.

##### [CLICK]


End file.
